The Darkley Forgotten
by ThetaWolfe
Summary: John has just crashed on a desert planet that has three suns with 10 survivors including a trigger happy merc, a criminal, and a never ending night quickly approaching. Sequel to the Lost Ones. Kind of required to read to understand this story.
1. Prologue

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_Television has brought back murder into the home - where it belongs."_

_-Alfred Hitchcock_

******

**The Pursuit**

_They say most of your brain shuts down in cryo-sleep. All but the primitive side…the animal side. No wonder I'm still awake._

_Transporting me with civilians. Sounded like forty, forty plus. Heard an Arab voice, some hoodoo holy man. Probably on his way to New Mecca. But what route? What route?_

_Smelled a woman. Sweat, boots, tool belt, leather. Prospector type, free settlers. And they only take the back routes._

_Caught a glimpse of man through the slit in the blindfold before they injected everyone with the sleep drug. Shorter then me, skinnier as well but built. Wore a strange leather outfit with a coat going down to his calves. Smelt a gun, but the ammo left my nose twitching, the scent was almost like oil. Steps were even, calm, but fingers were twitching, belaying his confidence. Walked like he owned the place, like he'd gone through hell and back. And his eyes, those haunted tortured eyes._

_Then there's my real problem: Mr. Johns, blue eyed devil. Planning on taking me back to slam…only this time he picked a ghost lane. _

_A long time between stops…A long time for something to go wrong._

******

Rovhu trailed listlessly in space about 150 motras behind the Hunter-Gratzner, just outside its proximity alarm. As the weekens turned to monens the young Leviathan started to become anxious. He had never gone more then five solar days without his Captain, but it's been 22 weekens since he talked to the human, since John was put into cryo-sleep.

The black hull of the bio-mechanoid made him invisible to the naked eye and the long range sensor distorter made him appear as either drifting debris or a small convoy ship. At the moment, he was mimicking a dead ship that was being pulled by the large mass of the Hunter-Gratzner.

At one and a half cycles old, Rovhu was just over a quarter of Moya's size. He already had two tiers available and another one almost finished growing. It would be another half a cycle before that tier was finished enough to use, but he wasn't in a hurry to complete it. He also had several dozen DRD's functioning, and like the Leviathan, were black with streaks of purple. Though Rovhu's skin was dark, his interior was not. He bore similarities to his mother there since his inner walls were painted a deep and vibrant gold.

He had a total of six rooms, unlike Moya's 30 some odd number. Two rooms were located on tier two where command was. His Captain sleeps in the larger one located right next to the control room. The other room was about seven motras down on the opposite side of the hall, it was smaller, but not by much. The other four rooms were in tier one, directly below John's room.

One of the rooms was a complete and functioning kitchen. When John asked why the kitchen wasn't in tier two, where he spent most of his time, Rovhu replied that if he wanted to stuff himself in the middle of the night, then at least he could get some exercise while he was at it. John refused to talk to him for a whole solar day. Rovhu thought that John's face was worth it though.

As he trailed behind the Hunter-Gratzner he thought about what would happen if he just left. What would life be like without John? And then, as his scanner picked up a small meteor shower and he moved to intercept, he thought that the strange human he has come to call his Captain was worth everything.


	2. Chapter One

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

_"Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."_

_Douglas Adams_

******

**Not Kansas**

John woke slowly as the cryo drug burned out of his system. Blood rushed to his head making him fell woozy, but that was to be expected since he was upside down. _'Wait, upside down?'_ Now he knew something was definitely wrong. He was still in the cryo-chamber, which meant that either the ship was upside down, or his locker had flipped.

Twisting his body around to get leverage and ignoring the tremendous pain in his left shoulder, he kicked as hard as he could until the glass cracked and he collapsed ungracefully on the floor. He almost cried out in pain when he landed on his injured shoulder, but he stifled it quickly. After cycles of waking in unknown situations with possible enemies about, he learned to use caution and not draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Standing slowly, John took stock of his situation, starting mainly with himself. He inspected his injuries carefully, and noting that though his arm was not broken, he had dislocated his shoulder. A milder but persistent throbbing revealed a laceration on his forehead going down to his eyebrow. He could tell it wasn't deep since the cut had already stopped bleeding.

Both Winona and Amanda were strapped to his thighs, which were a blessing in itself since from the look of the ship the cargo chambers were probably completely destroyed. And that's when John first noticed his situation. There was no doubt about it now, the Hunter-Gratzner had crashed.

'_Well isn't this just a huge pile of dren.'_

First things first though, John needed to fix his shoulder. Crichton moved himself towards the wall and noticed an empty but upright cryo-tube that was still attached to the main body of the ship. _'That'll work.'_ Gritting his teeth, John slammed his shoulder into the side of the chamber; only a slight whimper followed by a low groan escaped from his sealed mouth.

The Commander took a deep breath and leaned against the wall to collect himself when a quiet beep finally registered itself past the blood rushing through his ears. He touched the small black comm unit under his coat and a soft smile graced his lips as a musical trill burst into existence.

John had to wait several microns before Rovhu finally trailed off, allowing him to answer. "I'm fine, Rovhu, really. Just a few bumps and scrapes. What in the Hezzmona happened?"

The Leviathan's answer did little to comfort him. "A meteor shower? This far out into the shipping lanes? Huh," he paused again at Rovhu's chirping reply. "Can you arrange for a pickup?"

When Rovhu's musical language met his ears and he was able to translate, John's heart nearly leapt into his throat. Rovhu had been injured because his shields were still offline. The Leviathan had been injured because he was protecting the passenger hold. "Frell, how bad's the damage?" He sighed in relief when Rovhu's diagnostic scan revealed no serious damage, but entering or exiting atmo would be fatal. "'K, what's the situation?"

Crichton sat on a piece of rubble as the extent of the predicament he found himself in crashed into him with the force of stampeding unlas during the mating season. "No dren, three suns? You have got to be frelling me." It was official, he was so frelled. Stuck on a desert planet, showing no surface life except their little band of not so merry survivors, and no water or night. Things were not looking up anytime soon. "Alright, I'll check back in…about five arns. Try to keep a low profile; desperate people will do desperate things, so limit your communication. The last thing I need is for the others finding out I have a ship, even if you can't land. And get 1812 started on your shields, we may need you down here. This planet is giving me creepy feelings, and not the good kind."

As Rovhu bid him good luck, John made his way up front where he heard voices. He never noticed the pair of silver shined eyes tracking his movement from the shadows.

******

'_So the man has a ship…interesting.'_

Riddick watched the strange man greet another named Zeke who was crying uncontrollably. His wife hadn't made it; cryo-tube got sucked right out when the back blew off.

The convict shifted his head slightly, inhaling deeply. He caught the scent of honey and a strange spice similar to cinnamon, along with something else, something alien and ancient, that he could not identify. A strange smell for a man, but that wasn't what caught Riddick's attention. It was the smell of Death and Chaos that brought a smirk to the killer's lips.

'_Interesting.'_

He had no more time to dwell on the strange man who walked like a merc but smelled like a convict. Billy was nearby and he needed to be taken care of. Riddick knew one thing for sure though; this experience would be something he would remember for the rest of his life.

******

Commander Crichton followed the others outside, leaving the only surviving crew member of the Hunter-Gratzner to deal with her dying friend in peace. The 15 degree temperature change between the ship and the planet broke him out of his thoughts as the heat washed over his skin. Closing his eyes, John savored the warmth; it wasn't very often that he landed on a planet that didn't have sub-zero temperature. He frowned in consternation when he realized that he would need to loose his coat, it was simply to hot to wear and the others were already giving him strange looks.

Turning around, John made his way back inside while peeling off his coat. It was a shame since he really liked his coat, but he had several more just like it back home on Rovhu. John paused momentarily at that thought, he had always thought of Moya and Aeryn as his home, but now, nearly two cycles later, he was beginning to loose hope. Shaking his head to rid him of the thought, John moved to set the leather jacket on an overturned locker when something caught his eye.

A very muscular and dangerous looking man was kneeling on the ground, arms pulled nearly to their breaking point, chained tightly behind a severed beam. A bit was firmly locked between his teeth and a blindfold covered his eyes. Images of the Aurora Chair, Scorpius, and the hundred and one torture sessions he was forced to endure danced across his mind like a twisted ballet. Crichton flinched in sympathy as he took in the sight of the feral looking man. Even though his eyes were covered, John knew the man was watching him intently.

John set the coat down slowly and carefully made his way over to the captive. He hesitated for a microt when the he saw the bald head tilt and watched the chest inflate as he inhaled deeply. It reminded him of a hunting dog from Earth taking in the scent of his prey, but John shook off the oddness of it and continued walking, after all he had seen stranger behavior out of people he knew, like that time Chiana's body was invaded by that ghost like alien and had wanted to taste him.

Pushing the strange memory away, Crichton kneeled in front of the man, examining him up close, but not close enough to touch. He stared at the man before him as if he held the answer to all the questions he had. _'The answer is 42 John, didn't you know?_' He thought to himself, and then chuckled to himself in amusement as the dolphin song jumped into his head. 'Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' had always been one of his favorite movies.

The man before him shifted at the un-expecting noise and then seemed to bristle at him. A low growl rumbled up from his throat and John was again reminded of a dangerous animal and he felt himself responding. It was strange, but Crichton found himself wanting to reassure this man that he hadn't found his situation humorous. Shrugging to himself, the Commander decided to go with his instincts, since they have never failed him before.

"Sorry, I had a moment. I get those you know, though you wouldn't, would you?" He noticed that the prisoner before him seemed to relax a little and John found himself feeling oddly talkative, after all it had been a while since he had a real conversation with someone that wasn't a biomechonoid. "I was just thinkin' 'bout how much I want a fish right now. Course I'm not so sure I would eat one that came from this planet if you know what I mean…which I'm pretty sure you don't. Sorry about that I do that sometimes. Name's John Crichton, you can call me whatever," shrugging to nobody in particular he continued after he saw the man in front of him raise an eyebrow in curiosity. Well he hoped it was curiosity. "I'd shake your hand but you look a little tied up at the moment."

Crichton grinned when he heard the snort of amusement come from the captive. He contemplated removing the bit to make him a little more comfortable when voices were heard approaching their position. He stood back up and quickly making his way back to his coat without a sound, just making it there when the 'officer' and docking pilot walked in.

"The fuck you doin?" The 'officer' asked him, eyes darting towards the prisoner as if to make sure his chains hadn't come loose, hand inching towards his pistol before stopping suddenly as he took in the stranger. In under three microts John had already taken in the man completely, from his stance and weaponry, to his hair color, shoe size, and drug glazed eyes. He crossed off the title of officer on his mental list and replaced it with bounty hunter, there was no way this man was law. Crichton did not reach towards either gun, but he moved so the other man could see his weapons clearly.

The merc took a longer to process what he was seeing in order to act accordingly. The man was about the same height that he was, maybe just a little taller. Brown hair, combat boots, leather pants, black shirt, the bluest eyes he had ever seen, two guns within easy reach, and what looked like a large hunting knife peaking out of the top of his boot. The man looked deceptively innocent and peaceful, but William Johns had not spent the last ten years tracking, capturing, and interacting with criminals to be easily fooled. This man was dangerous, and even though Johns' hand was closer to his pistol, he doubted he would be the first to draw his weapon. Besides, those guns looked like nothing he had never seen before, but both looked like they could tear a whole through metal, let alone blast a good size chunk out of his torso.

Billy slowly relaxed his body, and stood to his full height, moving his hand away from his weapon. He watched the other man not react at all, he didn't give away anything, neither tensing nor relaxing. It got under Johns skin, this stranger bugged him in his indifference. He heard Riddick chuckle softly as his frustration leaked through every pore. Glaring daggers at his catch, the merc rolled his shoulders to ease the tension and shoving down his resentment for the man before him, he started introductions.

"Name's Johns, William Johns. This is Carolyn Fry."

Johns waited for several seconds before the other man finally reacted. "Commander John Crichton. Who's that?" He tilted his head towards the only one in the room unable to speak for himself.

"That there is Richard B. Riddick. He escaped from slam, I'm taken him back."

Crichton raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment. An awkward silence fell over the group before the young newly appointed Captain spoke up trying to ease the sudden tension. "Is he dangerous?" Her voice was slightly uneven and her hands were showing signs of a tremble.

Johns smirked at her, baring his unnatural white teeth as he replied, "Only to humans." He was obviously trying to scare her, and from what the Commander could see, it was working.

'_Well, at least my trip won't be boring,'_ Crichton thought to himself as he pushed himself past Fry and Johns, whistling the dolphin song as he went and making sure not to look back as he did so. As the suns hit his skin and John moved to join the other members, he hoped that 1812 got Rovhu's shields back online soon, because he had the feeling that this was going to turn nasty very, very quickly.

'_So long and thanks for all the fish.'_


	3. Chapter Two

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

_**Author's Note: Okay, I have never done an author's note, but here it goes, first of all thank you for all of the reviews, and I am terribly sorry for the delay but I will make no excuse as to why this chapter is so late, I just got bored and lost my plot bunny (found it under the bed when I was cleaning my room). **_

_**I would like to clarify something for Sdarian who took the time to write the really long review about a discrepancy. Sdarian brought up the question of the "Only to humans," line that Johns says, seeing as there are no humans in Crichton's dimension, just Sebaceans so here's why: John and Rovhu went through a wormhole (multiple times) with the infinite possible dimensions, time hops, and locations they could end up, I thought it was obvious that they had traveled either to a different dimension or time, sorry if I made that unclear. **_

_**I would also like to state that the first story, The Lost Ones is currently in re-write but I will not post them until all chapters have been re-written so there is no confusion. I am re-writing to make them longer, more involved, and to fix any errors that I had previously passed over. I have also re-written the Prologue and Chapter One, though you don't need to read them to continue the story, though I do recommend it. Now onto the story.**_

"_The very existence of flame-throwers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done."_

_-George Carlin_

******

**Onwards and Upwards**

Richard B. Riddick, escape convict, murderer, and self proclaimed all around bad ass, stood alone in the cargo hold. The chains he had just burned through dangled limply from his hands, the bit was thrown carelessly on the ground in disgust. He stared at it distastefully before he remembered that inanimate objects would not spontaneously combust no matter how long he glared at them.

A deep rumble resonated from his chest, exited his vocal cords and emitting a low growl let his displeasure be known to the general area all together. Snapping his goggles into place, he walked calmly over to the discarded coat that was carelessly tossed upon an overturned cryo-tube. Riddick picked it up before searching the pockets for anything of any use or value, in his search he found what looked like a protein bar and a small vial of water, or something like it.

Cracking the small bottle open, he sniffed it and discovered like water, it was odorless. Shrugging to himself, he pocketed both the liquid and the food. Finding nothing else of any interest in the coat, he inhaled deeply before he threw it back onto the chamber and made his way out. He had the man's scent now, and pretty soon he would have the answers to the strange questions that this 'Crichton' brought up. Like why in the name of the Seven Hell's was he on the Hunter-Gratzner if he had his own damn ship?

Riddick made his way out of the cargo hold and stepped under the hole that stood as the current doorway to the outside world. Nobody noticed him since he was shrouded completely within the shadows. He didn't see many of the survivors and recognized even less. A kid was running about, exclaiming loudly about the smoldering scar the crash had left upon the surface of the planet to some Arabs probably on their Hajj. A scrawny well dressed man stood off to the side, cleaning his glasses upon an even dirtier shirt.

A light breeze picked up, carrying the scent of honey, cinnamon, alien, and death, upon its wings. The convict's head snapped around and spotted the strange man who held such a peculiar smell. He stood next to the prospector, about 17 meters out, discussing loudly about the oxygen and what could be done to fix the obvious effects it was having on everyone. It was strange, even Riddick himself could feel his lungs trying to adjust to the too much pressure and not enough oxygen.

It was causing him to breathe faster then usual, and he could see the same effect upon the others, all except 'Crichton' who seemed mostly unaffected by the atmosphere. He observed the man closer, and was able to pick up a few other quirks about him that piqued the convict's interest.

Crichton stood with his back facing away from everyone, but he stood in such a way as if he wasn't deliberately keeping everyone within his sight. He leaned heavily upon his right leg and was talking animatedly with his left hand, his right was hung limply at his side but within easy reaching distance of his gun should he need it. His entire posture to the way he shifted and moved to the way he stood made it so that he could react and move quickly when, not if, something went down.

His technical conversation with Zeke was detailed and in-depth but his eyes constantly roamed all over the place, looking for any sign of trouble. Crichton kept a particular close eye on the kids, but he never let his eyes stray to them to much incase he missed something. His eyes lingered on the doorway in which Riddick stood, and the convict had to suppress the urge to step further back into the shadows, since he knew that Crichton could not in fact see him and movement of any sort would give him away.

After several long seconds in which Riddick was sure he had been spotted, Crichton finally turned away when Zeke once again grabbed his attention with a question that needed to be answered at that exact second. The convict exhaled slowly and made a silent and quick strategic retreat.

Riddick headed towards sunrise, keeping his body low and out of sight. Once he was a quarter of a click away from the crash he dropped his cuffs and circled around, moving towards sunset. He made sure to stick to the shadows as much as possible, which wasn't often since very few things actually cast a shadow on this barren land. He tried to conserve as much energy as possible, because from the sound of it, it seemed as if night was an unknown concept on this planet.

*****

This was so fucked. Here was Murphy's Law at its finest. If it can go wrong it will, and damn it all to hell it couldn't possibly get any worse then this. Here they were ten survivors out of forty, on a desert planet with three suns, no water, no food, and a murderer on the loose. What else could possibly happen to make this situation any worse? John cursed to himself and then prayed that Karma wouldn't turn around and bite him in the ass…hard. _'Frell Crichton, why don't you just put a kick me sign on my back. Where the Hezzmona is some wood when you need to knock on it? Talk about jinxes.'_

Crichton prayed to any deity he could think of, and a few he made up, that they would look upon their situation and be merciful. _'Like that is ever gonna happen.'_ For the life of him, John couldn't remember the last time the gods had ever been kind to him. For the longest time he could have sworn he was the universal whipping boy for any and all alien species that happened to be passing their tiny little insignificant corner of space.

He pulled his attention back to the group when the merc made his way back down the hill and towards them. He was carrying the chains that were used when he apprehended the criminal and looked thoroughly pissed off. Crichton raised an eyebrow when Johns sent him a particularly nasty look as if it was his fault the convict had escaped. The Commander scoffed to himself, he had been called mentally deficient on many occasions, but even he wasn't _that_ idiotic.

After the merc came back, Paris had decided to break into his personal stash to not only hand out completely useless weapons, but booze as well. He kindly declined a weapon, seeing as he had three, but took the alcohol with a smile on his face. After all, who would ever turn down bourbon?

Unscrewing the top and taking a huge gulp of the brown liquid, Commander John Crichton moaned in ecstasy as the alcohol burned a path down is esophagus and into his stomach. When the blissful haze caused by the drink left him, he became aware of Johns staring at him intently, along with several others. "What?"

Johns took a step forward as if to intimidate and gestured to the guns strapped to his thighs. "Why don't you hand one of those shiny pistols over to someone else?" His voice sounded sincere as if he wanted to make sure everyone was protected, but his eyes were anything but. Crichton could tell that he intimidated the man and the merc wanted one less weapon on his potential enemy.

Raising an eyebrow and raising his voice so everyone could hear. "What, one of these," patting Winona absentmindedly. His tone sounded friendly and his posture open, but Johns could tell, even through the fog of addiction, that he was being mocked. "Sorry, their DNA encoded, can't be used by anyone but yours truly."

It was total bullshit, but they didn't need to know that. "Why do you need one of mine anyways? You got another pistol right there," pointing out the pistola, Crichton could see the merc flinch as everyone's heads snapped to him. He could make out several nasty words being mumbled as William drew the gun and handed it over to Zeke.

"Shoot twice if you see that Mother Fucker," Johns told the prospector, trying to regain some of the control he had over the group before the strange, dangerous man had torn it to shreds so easily just seconds ago.

Zeke took the offered weapon quickly. "What if he sees us first?"

A malicious grin overtook the merc's boyish face. "Then there will be no shots."

With a few last parted words the survivors split in half, Johns, Fry, Imam, and his three kids left to go search for water, shelter, and hopefully food. Zeke, Paris, Jack, and Crichton had volunteered to stay behind to scavenge what they could and bury the dead. John was the last one standing alone, watching the rest of their group walk away, and he couldn't help the feeling of foreboding that seemed to incase him. They were completely out of sight by the time the blue sun hit midday and he moved to get to work on the breathing units. The least he could do was be helpful. Snagging Jack on his way back to the ship, he enlisted the boy's help as he watched Zeke drag a tarp over to the area he had started to dig in, and he got the strange feeling that their time was extremely limited on this barren planet.


	4. Chapter Three

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong."_

_Voltaire_

**Not Alone**

It took Riddick the better half of the day to reach the mass graveyard. The blue sun was high in the sky and the heat was starting to get to him. He walked around the bones for a long while before he found a piece that he could use to make a shiv. Moving under a large skeleton that could have once been a mammal, he lodged himself up in the vertebrae while he started to carve a knife out of the bone piece he found.

The temperature was cooler under the dark but not by much. Sweat beaded down the convicts skin and soaked his black wife beater, making it stick uncomfortably to his skin. It didn't take him long to finish making the shiv and by the time he finished he could hear the remaining survivors making their way towards the graveyard he now occupied.

He remained hidden within the spinal column of the great skeleton, pressing his back as far as it could go he waited patiently as Johns walked underneath him searching fruitlessly for his captive. But Riddick knew he would never find him because Johns was predictable and predictably he never looked up. He contemplated for several seconds of jumping down slitting his throat but changed his mind last minute. After all, where would the fun be in that?

He dropped down after he was positive John moved on in his search and moved over towards one of the bones that could have been a rib, where one of the crewmembers of the Hunter-Gratzner was standing. She was exhausted and dehydrated, he could tell that much, but she also reeked of guilt. It seemed to be oozing out of everyone of her pores and her face was twisted into that of self disgust.

Riddick moved forward, the shiv clutched within his fist raised in front of him. Carolyn Fry, he remembered her name, stood only several feet in front of him. He could kill her so easily and get rid of her guilt. But before he got the chance Johns walked up, and he was forced back into the shadows disappearing as if he was an apparition that was never there.

Johns handed her his bottle of alcohol and exchanged friendly greetings. "I've never seen a captain so ready to leave her ship," he was baiting her, not the she could tell. Fry probably thought he was being friendly, but Johns was anything if not malicious. Everything he did he did for his own gain, and no one else's.

She shrugged nonchalantly as if that explained everything. "Yeah well, I just had to get out," Johns raised an eyebrow at her as if to encourage her to continue. "When things were at their worst Owens' was at his best. He stopped the docking pilot from dumping the passenger hold during the crash."

"And the docking pilot being," as the words left his mouth it finally clicked in his brain as to whom the docking pilot really was. "Well shit," taking his hat off and placing it on her head. "I guess were all lucky to be here more than I thought."

Fry probably thought he was being friendly, trying to comfort her, but Riddick knew better. She had just given him a very important piece of information he could use in the future, and he would because that was the type of scum he was. But the convict had to give the docking pilot props. After all, she almost killed everybody. He moved forward and used his shiv to slice off a piece of her hair. He would spare for now he decided after all her time would come, and when it did it would not be painless.

He sniffed the piece of hair he had sliced off taking in her scent and released it with the wind when Johns and she had moved away. He would keep his eye on her for now but at that moment had more pressing matters to attend to. Grabbing the bottle of alcohol that was left behind Riddick finished it off in three large groups and filled it back up with sand putting in exactly the same spot that had been left in.

He watched the group move off for a moment until they disappeared over the hill. Only once there were out of sight did he move away from the shadows and make his way back to the crash site.

*****

Crichton made his way back to the downed ship. His talk with Rovhu hadn't gone well, from what he was told his shields were still down even with the help of 1812 and his own DRD's. Rovhu also relayed his observation of the planetary alignment. It seems as if they are about to experience a total eclipse from both sides. Rovhu also revealed through his scans of the planet that even though they are the only living life upon the surface they are not the only living things present.

Underneath the planet surface was a cacophony of tunnels and cave systems that go on for hundreds of metras. Living within these underground tunnels was a species of blind, flying, carnivorous monsters that lived for nothing but to eat and breed. And if that wasn't the worst news add into the fact that they numbered in the millions.

John shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts and reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead that was dripping into his eyes as he made his way back into the shade. He looked out over to Zeke, who was in the process of dragging the dead crew members of the Hunter-Gratzner to the hole he had dug about twenty-five motras out. Paris sat upon the oasis he had made for himself a bottle of what looked like bourbon in one hand and a cigar in the other. He was sitting on a lawn chair and an umbrella propped up next to him covering him completely within the shade keeping him out of the sun.

If John remembered correctly he was actually supposed to be keeping watch but he wasn't doing a very good job seeing as both of his eyes were closed and everybody was certain he was sleeping. The commander snorted to himself and finished walking towards the boy Jack who was helping him finish making the last few breathing units. They only have two more to make and unfortunately only enough supplies for one, but John waved off the boy's questions and simply stated that he didn't need one.

He grabbed the eager kid by shoulder and steered him back within the ship. He could feel the heat getting to him; it was getting to all of them. Though the alcohol was helping to keep them from feeling dehydrated it was actually even making them more dehydrated and in the long run it did not bode well.

It was even two microns later, when Paris came running in demanding that Jack confirm it was him. John sighed deeply before he turned to the obviously distraught man. "What are you going on about he's been here with me the whole time?"

"Well, if he's been here with you then what was-" he never got the chance to finish the sentence because the next thing they knew a shadow fell upon them and they heard shuffling coming from outside.

Jack grabbed the strange scythe Paris had given him earlier and mouthed the word _'Riddick'_ to all of them. Pulling Winona from its holster, Crichton pushed the both the kid and Paris behind him as he moved forward to the opening of the ship. He pushed his back against the wall, putting the gun in front of his face, and peeked out. He couldn't see the man but he could hear him getting closer.

John took several deep breaths counting three microts in an exhaling thee microts out. He did this twice before clutching the gun tightly and stepping out into the sunlight pointing it at the intruder. The sun was in his eyes so he couldn't see very well, but he could make out the outline of a rather large man. He went to pull the trigger, but stopped at the last second as Jack screamed, "Wait!"

He wasn't Riddick. Taking a shaky breath John holstered his weapon and grabbed the other man's arm in greeting. As he was shaking his hand he happened to glance over the other's shoulder and could see Zeke pulling his pistol and getting ready to shoot. "Down!" He shouted, pulling both the stranger and the kid down with him. He heard the bullet hit metal just millimeters above is head and glanced around wildly making sure nobody had been hit.

Luckily, Paris had dropped the second Crichton had yelled and nobody was injured. He got up slowly telling everybody to just stay down and made his way over to Zeke. The prospector held the pistol loosely in his hand, his whole body seemed to be shaking and he looked like he was going into shock. Taking the pistol away from him, John gripped his shoulder tightly and moved him so he was facing away from everybody else.

"Hey look at me," Crichton said, grabbing the man's attention. "You okay?"

"I, I th-thought, I thought that it was th-that bloody bastard," he was stuttering and was badly shaken. "I thought that, that was Riddick. Was that Riddick?"

"No," he answered honestly. "That wasn't Riddick. It's just another survivor, but you didn't hit anyone. Nobody's hurt, so it's all going to be okay. All right, I need you to calm down."

The man nodded his head enthusiastically finally getting a grip on his emotions. "Ya, ya, I can do that."

"All right, now I'm going to go over there and help them. Why don't you finish burying the dead, while I check to make sure everyone's all right. Okay?" John went back to the others only when he was sure that Zeke was fine, on his way back he glanced over at the watchtower that Paris had made and could've sworn he saw the very man that everyone feared sitting up there drinking the rest of the collectors alcohol. But when he glanced back at it a second later, Riddick was already gone and he attributed it to heat delirium.

*****

Riddick sat upon the chair that was positioned on high ground, drinking the last of the weasel man's alcohol he observed the other survivors making fools out of themselves. He laughed humorously when they almost killed another one of the sheep, twice. He watched this 'Crichton' man closely and observed how he defused the situation within a matter of seconds. He was like him, the convict observed, another wolf within the flock. The only difference between them was Riddick never tried to hide what he was, but this man was clearly a predator camouflaging as prey.

_'A wolf in fucking sheep's clothing.'_

Riddick chuckle in amusement as he drank the last of the alcohol. Out of the corner of his eye he could see this _wolf_ turned his head towards him, but by the time he would turn to look again the convict would be long gone.

He made his way towards the prospector, seeing as he was the only one in the group who was alone. A breathing unit was secured to his back and Riddick planned on taking it. He snuck over to the burial grounds that the Australian had been digging keeping low to the ground and sticking to the shadows of the spires. He was maybe half a dozen feet from the tarp covered hole when the screaming started.

Crouching down he peered into the mass grave, and cocked his head to the side and confusion at what he saw. The grave was covered in blood and the bottom half of the widowed man was sticking out of a hole that Riddick was positive hadn't been made by a human. He was being pulled in by something and the convict surprisingly considered going down to help him for about half a second and then decided against it. He chose instead to beat a hasty retreat, but before he could even stand the tarp before him was ripped off and the _wolf_ stood before him.

*****

Crichton was getting the newcomer some of their alcohol to settle his nerves when he heard the screaming. He told the other two to stay where they were and he ran to where the screaming came from. His heart seemed to leap into his throat when he realized that it came from Zeke's location. He hadn't known the man long, but he was starting to like him, maybe even started creating a tentative friendship.

Moving as fast as his legs could carry him, John was able to reach the grave site in just a matter of seconds, but it felt like an eternity to him. Falling to his knees, the Commander tore the tarp off of its support and gagged at the sight before him. Blood was everywhere, the bodies of the crewmembers and dead passengers were gone and Crichton was able to catch the sight of Zeke's legs kicking and trashing outside of the tunnel.

Glancing up momentarily his eyes met that of the criminal everyone was so afraid of. Richard B. Riddick was crouched down on the other side of the hole, shiv clutched in his right hand, and not an ounce of blood on his caramel colored skin. The larger man cocked his head slightly to the side as if to ask _'What are you waiting for?'_ It took John more will power then he was willing to admit in order to tear his eyes away from the man before him.

When he had finally gotten a hold of himself, Crichton jumped into the hole and grabbed Zeke's feet just as they were about to disappear completely. Giving a sharp tug, John was surprised when he didn't gain any ground, in fact the prospector was pulled further into the hole and John along with him. He yanked harder, putting all of his strength into it and was able to pull himself out of the tunnel, turned to yell at the convict for help, but when he looked for the man, he was no longer there.

_'Guy's a frelling Ninja.'_ He paused at that thought. _'Cuz that wasn't completely random.'_ John was pulled out of his thoughts when whatever had a hold of Zeke gave a particularly hard yank. He tried really hard to save his could be friend, but the thing that had Zeke's other half was just too strong. The blood that covered his hands made his grip slippery and after just two more tugs from the thing, his grip failed and Zeke was pulled into the hole completely. A sudden cacophony of noises, eerily similar to that of sonar, reached his ears before his tentative friend disappeared completely into the dark, never to be seen again, and John prayed that his death be quick because somehow he knew there's wouldn't be.


	5. Chapter Four

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

_Conway's Law: In any organization there will always be one person who knows what is going on - This person must be fired._

_-Unknown_

**Down the Rabbit Hole**

Rovhu drifted aimlessly above the desert planet. Keeping far enough away to not be pulled into its gravity, but close enough that the comm unit still worked, he was starting to get inpatient. It had been one full day, according to this planet's rotation, since the ship his Captain had escaped on had crashed. A full 38 arns since the meteor shower had struck the Hunter-Gratzner. A full two arns since he had lost talked to his Captain, and a full seventeen microns since 1812 had given the verdict of his shield repair.

The mismatched DRD informed the young Leviathan that they unfortunately needed the human in order to completely repair the shields, and instead it had moved on to repairing the damage he had sustained while protecting the passenger hold. But that didn't really matter at this moment, because without his shields, Moya's son could not enter the atmosphere without burning to a crisp, and his Captain needed him.

Just two arns before, his Captain had relayed the unfortunate news of the prospector's death, it left Rovhu feeling a little sad since he was looking forward to meeting the man. But the darkness had taken him, and a little of his Captain with him. And pretty soon the darkness would consume the planet and take everything.

* * * * *

John Crichton had very few absolute certainties in his life, but he knew that this was for sure one of them. They were going to die here. He stood outside of the Hunter-Gratzner, still covered in Zeke's blood and appearing to be completely unbothered by it. Johns was giving him the nastiest glare his drug addled mind could create, while the kid, Jack, looked torn between standing with Imam like he had been told, comforting John in his loss of his friend, or talking to the predator that lay chained within the ship. The predator won out.

When no one was looking, Jack snuck inside the ship to confront the object of his fascination. John saw the kid slip away but ignored it, he somehow knew that Riddick wouldn't hurt him, and if the others didn't notice, then why would he draw more attention to himself then what was absolutely necessary.

The Commander had told them what had happened, from the new survivor he had nearly shot, to comforting Zeke who had also nearly shot him, to running at the sound of screaming. They hadn't believed him; rather they were more willing to believe that the one man had off-ed Zeke, dragged him into the hole, and somehow made the other dead bodies disappear with his amazing magical awesomeness. John snorted to himself in amusement before his face once again put on the mask of indifference and apathy, after all it wouldn't be a good idea to look like he was enjoying himself on this dead planet. _'Frell, I really need some sleep.'_

They were waiting for Carolyn Fry to come back from questioning the 'BEAST' given not only astrics but also capitalized for dramatic effect. _'And cue creepy music,'_ just as the thought crossed his mind, and the 'Halloween' theme song popped into his head, the only remaining crew member of the Hunter-Gratzner finally came outside, followed by a sheepish Jack.

"So _Captain,_ what's the verdict?" The merc emphasized captain.

She seemed caught between confronting him about his obvious hint to the rest of the survivors, and playing it off, hoping they didn't notice. Deciding to just ignore the jest she answered as calmly as she could. "We go deeper."

Her voice was even and determined, but John could tell that her talk with Riddick had shaken her deeply. A tremor was running through her body, and her hands were all clammy. Ignoring Johns' disbelief, she walked right passed everyone and made her way to the spires. The merc stood a moment longer before following her, along with the rest of the survivors. Crichton hung back, and when they were a good dozen paces away, he made his way inside to the shade. He was, after all, completely exhausted and really, really did not feel up to going down the rabbit hole, because what ever was done there would probably just eat him.

* * * * *

Riddick heard the group move off to go look for their dead. His encounter with the pilot had amused him greatly, and the kid's curiosity brought out his more playful side, so he was in good spirits when the strange man walked into his little prison. He should have felt more vulnerable then he was, with his arms chained up spread eagle, goggles removed, feet chained, stomach and neck exposed to another predator, but he didn't. He felt strangely at ease.

Richard watched the man through barely veiled curiosity as he sat on the bench opposite of him. He cocked his head and inhaled deeply as he watched 'Crichton' watch him. The blue eyes seemed to take in every detail, no matter how insignificant, and commit everything to memory. It was one monster observing another, calculating their level of dangerous and acting upon gathered data. This monster decided that Riddick was, at the moment, completely harmless and dismissed him to observe the surroundings.

"You know," Crichton's voice was soft and calm but held a hint of insanity to it, as if he was just on the side of crazy about to take the plunge. "We really need to stop meeting like this, it gives people ideas."

A deep rumble started in his chest before making its way up and rolling out of his mouth in the form of words. "Thought you would be with the flock, looking for the missing sheep?"

The analogy wasn't missed by John, neither was _the flock_, not _his flock_. He knew, without a doubt, that neither he nor the convict were part of the flock. Part of him cringed at the fact that he wasn't one of the sheep, but another already knew that he hadn't been one of them for a _long_ time.

"No, not me," John admitted to the man before him, surprising both himself and the convict in his admission. The atmosphere suddenly felt heavy and John felt the sudden urge to lift it, and in this case like the thousands of ones before it, when he opened his mouth, something stupid came out of it. "Besides, I already found my fish."

Riddick looked at Crichton, clearly hoping he heard him wrong because that sentence made absolutely no sense. But then when he thought back to the only other time he had conversed with him it brought back the other strange conversation with fish. In fact every conversation with this man was strange. "Big fuckin' fish."

"Yeah, big _fucking_ fish," John chuckled humorlessly at that for several seconds before a small beep interrupted him. His eyes snapped back up to the convict quickly and Riddick was again reminded of a wolf as his eyes were set in steel.

Another beep filled the room and he cocked his head to the side. "Aren't you going to get that?"

_'He knows,'_ John was certain of it, he just didn't know how. _'How could he possibly know?'_ He pushed the sudden panic back and squashed it harshly beneath his boot. He couldn't afford to loose it here, and especially not in front of him of all people. Ignoring the other's curiosity, Crichton tapped the comm unit and answered the young Leviathan, and just to be spiteful to the one before him, he answered in Sebacean.

"Yeah, Rovhu, what is it?" The series of clicks and vowels left Riddick feeling a little pissed. He knew the other was speaking in a different language that he himself couldn't understand just to be an ass, and it left his animal side restless, wanting dearly to put the man into his place. A few more words of the harsh language flowed past his lips followed by twittering bird like music from his communication device before it ended as abruptly as it started.

Silence once again filled the small room made prison until the convict broke the quiet yet again. "You know, I'm curious," Riddick waited until he had the other man's attention. "Why would a man with a clearly functioning ship pay for passage on a civilian transport going through the ghost lanes?"

His muscles rippled underneath his skin as he adjusted himself into a slightly more intimidating position as if he sat upon a thrown made for him, not a chair that held him prisoner. Crichton raised an eyebrow, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately with this man, and replied, "Feeling quite talkative today are we?"

He was being mocked, the convict was sure of it. Crichton's voice was filled with a condescending layer that Riddick was positive he used a lot. He almost seemed to ooze the 'I-know-something-you-don't' posture and reveled in it. Everything about his screamed superiority, and Riddick hated it. Before he knew it he was baring his teeth in a snarl and a growl ripped itself out of his vocal cords reverberating around the room.

As the animalistic sound faded John was reminded that this man, though clearly chained, was still dangerous. It would not be beneficial to his health if he kept pissing him off. "Through a series of misfortunate events," Crichton finally answered, pulling Winona out of her holster and lying down on the bench. He crossed his arms under his head; the gun still gripped in his right hand, and closed his eyes. "The answer to your question...through a series of misfortunate events," he clarified when he got no reply.

Cracking an eye open, he glanced over at the imprisoned man. Riddick was studying him, not in a predatory fashion, just calculating and curious. Deciding that the convict's curiosity was currently sated, Crichton again closed his eyes and settled down to sleep. He needed his rest after all, if he was to plan a way out of this seemingly impossible situation.

Rovhu had just informed him that the shields were a lost cause until he could get up there himself and fix them. 1812 and the other DRD's were currently repairing the last of the meteor damage, but even then the Leviathan still could not come planet side. With the eclipse coming up on them in just several days, if they couldn't get the little skiff the others had found working they would be dead before they even knew what hit them. Add that in with the fact that none of the other survivors wanted to believe what was really going on beneath the sand and you get one nice big recipe of Dren.

They were so Frelled.

* * * * *

William Johns was furious. Fry was back with the other survivors recovering from the supposed attack, Crichton was MIA, and his catch made him look like an idiot in front of the others. This was last thing he needed, the first being a fix of course.

He entered the cargo hold quickly, his 12 gauge clutched tightly in his hand, sweating and pale from withdrawal, and never before had he wanted to use his gun so badly as he wanted to use it now. Billy stopped suddenly as he crossed the threshold into the room, disbelief clearly covering his face even through the addiction haze. Right there, right in front of him was the man that had started all of this, and there he was making nice with _his _catch.

His hand clenched violently around his shot gun, finger twitching to the trigger, barrel slowly rising from the ground. It would be so easy to solve the problem, right here, right now, to just raise his gun and blow the man's head off as he slept. He could come up with a cover, he was sure, all he had to do was state that he was trying to set the convict free, Billy went in to stop him, Crichton got a hold of the gun, there was a struggle, and then BAM. It would be so easy, and nobody would be the wiser, except Riddick, but who would believe a crazy murdering sociopath anyway. Nobody, that was who.

Richard watched the situation with growing amusement. He could clearly see the ranging emotions running across Billy's face from desperation, anger, triumph, and glee. He saw the other man's hand tighten around his 12 gauge, saw his finger twitch for the trigger. The merc thought he could shoot Crichton and get away with it, but Riddick knew better.

He had watched the strange man before him sleep for a good twenty minutes, laying on his back, arms cushioned underneath his head, weird gun clutched tightly in his fist. Riddick heard Billy approaching long before he reached his little prison, and watched as the second his foot hit metal, still a dozen meters from the entrance, Crichton tensed, grip on his gun getting tighter, and his body coiled tightly. Like a snake getting ready to strike.

Riddick rumbled in approval as he watched the predator before him ready for battle, and his primal side shivered in anticipation. How he wanted so badly to fight this monster, just one on one. Because there was no doubt about it now, this thing before him was no man, it may have once been, but not anymore. All that was left was a creature of great power and destruction, ruled by chaos and traveled on the bridge of death. He had never felt so excited before in a long, long while.

So it was with great joy that Riddick watched as the barrel of the gun slowly rise to the 'sleeping' man. It didn't even move an entire inch before the predator uncoiled with a snap, springing up into a standing position, right hand pointing his strange gun at the merc, left already pulling the other out of the holster following its sister just by a half a second. In less then a second Billy found himself at a clear disadvantage, and the look on his face brought a sadistic laugh out of the convict.

At the sound, one of the guns snapped to him instantaneously, blue eyes wide and full of pain, before clarity came back into them and both of the guns were lowered and then holstered. "Sorry, old habits die hard…I really need to stop pointing guns at people, it's quite rude."

Crichton's voice was completely sincere as he apologized, and it brought another just as sadistic laugh out of Riddick. The strange leather clad man left the cargo hold, the sociopath's voice ringing harshly behind him as he made his way outside, leaving Riddick to the tender mercy of the merc.

Johns stood standing there, completely dumbstruck, for several seconds as the creepy laughter finally stopped and then looked over at his catch, confusion and disbelief coloring his eyes. A sick, twisted chuckle rumbled out of Riddick, finally snapping Billy back into the present.

"The fuck was that?"

* * * * *

Crichton found the others approaching his position as he stepped out under the suns. His hand was trembling slightly from the adrenaline. He gripped it tightly into a fist to stop the tremor. He had almost shot them, both of them. It had taken more time to remember that the people here didn't know him, that they didn't want his brain, then it did to actually put both of them in the crosshairs of his two girls.

Sighing deeply, he ran a hand through his hair as he walked up to the others, leaving a mental memo to cut his hair at the first opportune moment. Fry, though clearly distracted and scared, informed him of the good news, Paris standing distractedly next to her. The search party had found a small settlement about a half a day's walk from the crash, and at the sight they had found a ship. It wasn't functional, not yet, but with a generator that Imam and his disciples along with the new addition to their band of not so merry survivors were retrieving it soon would be. If he remembered correctly, and he always did, the new guy's name was Walter. He didn't look like a Walter, but maybe it was just his parents' way of gaining some sort of twisted amusement at their son's expense.

John turned to ask Carolyn about the rest of the power source and the people at the settlement when something caught his eye. Stepping out of the Hunter-Gratzner was Riddick, once again unchained, and walking as if he owned the place. The merc followed him soon after.

He watched as the convict made his way over to some shade and Billy made his way up to them. The addict informed him of the tentative truce that they now held, and told everyone to gather what they needed and load it up on some sheet metal that may have once been part of the hull, and now served the purpose of a sled.

Crichton looked in disgust as they loaded up items that they really didn't need, because it was obvious to everyone who would be pulling it. He couldn't go and remove any of the unwanted objects, not without making himself out to be a target, but he could do his little bit to help, by not adding to the pile. Only Johns seemed to notice that the Commander didn't grab anything he couldn't carry himself, but he couldn't call him out on it.

Something was going on between the strange man and his prisoner, and Johns did not like it one bit. He would get to the bottom of if no matter what it took.


	6. Chapter Five

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."  
- Douglas Adam_

**Hope…Or Something Like It**

Jack was exhausted from the continuous excitement and the long desert walk, but she didn't let that get in the way of her enthusiasm and thirst for adventure. She soon discovered that even though she and the youngest survivor, Ali, did not speak the same language, they could still have a lot of fun.

Currently they were playing 'Invasion' in between the houses and on top of the roofs while the adults worked to try and save their sorry asses. The adults were the Invaders, not that they knew that, but to Jack it wasn't that far off from the truth. She had discovered at a young age, too young of an age, that they couldn't be trusted. Nobody could be trusted.

As they made their way to the building titled 'Coring Room' Jack thought on the group that she found herself in. The three Arab kids were okay by her book, but the oldest one made her a little nervous. The Imam was placed upon her neutral list as was 'Walter' because she felt no negative emotion towards them, but she didn't feel positive about them either. Zeke had also been on this list, but now his name resided with those of the ever increasing dead.

Paris, the 'Antiquities Dealer' which was just a fancy way of saying Illegal Smuggler, fell under her 'Weak and Cowardly but Mostly Harmless' list. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him just incase because sometimes it was the cowardly that were the most dangerous. They had a tendency to stab people in the back after all.

The 'Captain', Carolyn Fry, gave her a weird vibe. It might have been in the way she would gaze upon one of them, mainly the children including Jack herself. Fry got this strange guilty look in her eyes when she did, or it might have been in the way that she and William Johns seemed to share a dark secret.

Which brought her to the Badge. Jack had grown up around men like him who ran the neighborhood. He was a crooked cop if she ever did see one…that is if he was even a cop. He was a trigger happy, power loving, authority flaunting, addict. He got off on their terror, especially if he was the one to instill it. It was a lethal combination.

Both he and Carolyn made it to the top of Jack's 'Dangerous and Cannot Be Trusted' list. Richard Badass Riddick was also on the 'Dangerous' list, but he was also on the 'Inhumanly Awesome Role Model' one as well. She knew it was dangerous to idolize a murderer like him, but nobody fucked with him either.

Riddick didn't have to hide behind lies to get his respect, like she did. People look at her and see a small, frail, helpless girl that they either need to protect or more often take advantage of. That's why she hid her gender behind a mask and changed her name. Nobody looked at a boy like they did her. It was just safer that way.

Surprisingly Crichton made her feel safe as well. She couldn't explain why though, it had been such a long time since she trusted an adult. It might have been the way that he didn't fall into the crooked cop's traps of carefully laid words full of venom and deceit, or it could have been the way he gazed at the children with fondness and longing in his eyes, Jack included. It also might have been the fact that not even the Big-Bad-Con-Man didn't seem to scare him.

She like John, Jack realized, and decided that sticking with him night be in her best interest. The strange man seemed to ooze authority and leadership, but he didn't flaunt or abuse it like the Cop did. Jack would bet her right arm that Crichton was hiding some huge ace up his sleeve and she definitely wanted to be there when he used it.

* * * * *

Commander John Crichton liked to believe that he was a good and honest man and that his mother did right by him. Eleanor Crichton raised her children with encouraging words and a firm hand. Not one to believe that kids needed to be coddled she let them go out in the world and learn from their mistakes while always being there to support them. She gave her children everything they needed in life, and occasionally things they wanted. She never spoiled her kids and taught them respect for all things, living and not. But at that moment, as Crichton's eyes fell upon the little beat up skiff that would take them off of this dreaded planet, he realized just how spoiled he had let himself become.

Making a home aboard Moya after his tumble down the rabbit hole and the almost two years living on Rovhu caused him to gaze at the skiff with something akin to disgust. But who wouldn't after living on a bio-mechanoid that had room to fit many, golden halls to walk through, and a constant steady thrum of a heart beat reverberating in the background. This emergency ship wasn't even half of Rovhu's size, frell it wasn't even a quarter. And then that was when he realized it, the skiff was too small; they weren't all going to fit.

He tore his gaze away from the crumbling piece of history and chose to look around instead. John would let the other's deal with the skiff, they didn't need his help. Spotting an abandoned vehicle nearby that looked a lot like a solar powered four-wheeler, he decided that his time was better spent trying to fix that instead. At least that way, when they left to retrieve more power cells they wouldn't have to drag them the whole way.

First though, before he got to work fixing things, he would need a set of tools. Shading his eyes he glanced around and looked upon the stone built houses and settled on searching those for his missing equipment. He still had the screwdriver he had bought slipped in his boot, but he would need more then just that to get the job done.

Casting one final look of disgust and disbelief at the damaged skiff, John turned his around and made his way into the nearest house and started searching. It was a lot darker inside and he took a moment to let his eyes adjust. When he could finally make out definite shapes in the inky blackness, he stumbled his way over to the window and opened the slats, letting more light in, and sighed in satisfaction when he could finally see properly.

It didn't take him more then a few minutes to subtract this dwelling from his mental list of possible houses that carried tools within. But even though he knew that he wouldn't find what he needed there, John could not bring himself to leave as he gazed upon the shelves, desks, and inside the closet. Everything was there as if a person or persons had just gotten up and left for a minute, there was even a cup out on the coffee table. He probably would have thought that the family had just stepped out if it wasn't for the coat of dust that covered everything. Crichton didn't like it, not at all.

As he turned to leave, he saw a large silhouette in the doorway and had to restrain himself from whipping Winona out and blowing the person to little bits. The person didn't move for the longest time, and neither did John. Finally as he stepped into the room, Crichton realized just who had trapped him in the two rooms, one floor, and one exit house. It was Richard B. Riddick.

* * * * *

If asked, Riddick would never be able to tell anyone what had compelled him to follow the strange man into the tiny house. It might have been out of curiosity, or a strange sense of Alpha male dominance coming to play. And yet it might have been out of a need for companionship. Living the life of a criminal was a lonely one indeed.

When Riddick walked in crowds people automatically cleared a path for him. On a deep subconscious level, they feared the beast within him, even if they didn't know it. But this Crichton did not seem to fear him. He may have been a monster on the edge of crazy, but even people like him had always shown him a sense of caution. This man didn't, and it rubbed the much larger man the wrong way. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them _now_.

Stopping in the threshold of the little dwelling, his hulking frame blocking the entire exit, Riddick observed the smaller _wolf_ as he perused around the room, picking up a random object or photo and setting it back in the same exact position. Riddick could tell this man was anal in how he did things just so, but observing the other didn't answer any of his questions.

As Crichton turned to leave, Riddick had to suppress attacking the smaller man as he _almost_ pulled his weird gun. He sniffed the air, taking in the other's scent and categorizing them. He could smell his confusion, curiosity, and anxiousness, along with the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins, preparing him for a fight even as his stance was one of neutrality.

He let the other stew for a moment before stepping into the room. He could see Crichton flinch at the movement, hand once again twitching for his weapon but stopping short as if he had to remind himself _not_ to pull it. That action alone revealed much about his character. It told Riddick that the smaller man was used to battle, used to having to use violence, but trying to stop, trying to _not_ be that man anymore. He was clearly failing.

Crichton didn't speak, showing wisdom beyond his years. He was waiting for the convict to show his hands before he read into the situation, but also preparing himself for all possibilities. His blue eyes didn't frantically glance around the room for an exit because he clearly knew that there was only one, and that one was behind the threat before him. Instead his gaze stayed fixed on Riddick's goggle covered eyes.

Riddick stopped just an arms length away from the strange man and he raised his welder's goggles and actually looked a Crichton for the first time without the obstacle. He heard the other inhale sharply as shined eyes were fully revealed to him for the first time, but that was the only reaction he got. This man amused him, Riddick realized, as his eyes bore into the other's.

"Can I help you?"

The question was clipped, holding authority as well as madness within the voice that wielded it. Riddick seemed to actually ponder the question as he hummed in curiosity. "Who are you?"

Crichton looked momentarily startled by the question. Lines appeared on his forehead as his face scrunched up in thought. "You already know the answer to that?"

Devilish smirk dancing upon his lips, Riddick replied. "Do I…does anybody?"

If the convict didn't know any better he would have said that Crichton almost looked offended by they question. He didn't wait for the other man to answer though; instead he just pushed another question, one he had already asked before. "Why were you on the Gratzner?"

"I already answered that," Crichton shifted, trying to move past the much larger man and towards the exit, but Riddick moved with him, blocking his escape.

"No you didn't."

It was true, he hadn't. Crichton seemed to speak in code and riddles, as if dancing on his own world, speaking his own language that made sense to none but him. "What does it matter, why do you care?"

His demand was border aggressive as he took a step closer to the larger man, playing at intimidation. It wasn't working. "You're interesting."

The answer seemed to not only leave the strange little _wolf_ flabbergasted, but also extremely angry. Riddick could smell his fury rolling off of him in waves; it almost completely covered up the scent of fear. Raising his eyebrow in intrigue, Riddick let Crichton pass him this time without trying to block him. He got many of his questions answered anyways.

It seemed as if Crichton feared when people took an interest in him, as if he had a huge secret to hide that others desperately wanted. It made Riddick even more curious, but once again, after just a few minutes in the strange man's presence, Riddick found himself sated in his curiosity. The man was a conundrum, one he was going to figure out. Crichton had made it all the way to the door and was about to step outside when Riddick decided to leave him with a parting shot. "I know you noticed," Riddick's deep voice reverberated around the room, echoing the growl that was always present. He waited until he knew he had Crichton's attention. He didn't even have to turn around, he could hear the other man stop at the threshold, smell his curiosity. "Ain't enough room for us all."

He heard the leather boots stomp out into the daylight, feel the displacement of air as the other left. A small smile flitted across his lips as he contemplated the future. There may not have been enough room for all of them, but that wouldn't be a problem for long. The dying would start soon anyways.


	7. Chapter Six

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_I went to a bookstore earlier to buy a 'Where's Wally' book. When I got there, I couldn't find the book anywhere. Well played Wally…well played."_

**Dearly Departed**

John sighed in relief as he took a seat next to Paris and graciously accepted the glass of water from Hassan, one of the Imam's children. He glanced around to see who was missing from this all important meeting that was entirely unnecessary and saw that there friendly neighborhood psychopath was not one of the ones present. Riddick was missing too along with two of the kids.

Settling himself in for a wait, he watched bemused as Carolyn tried to wear a hole into the floor with her insistent pacing. Paris was making himself dizzy watching her, his eyes tracking her movement like a hawk, and Crichton's eyes started to slide shut in exhaustion when Johns came in, closely followed by Riddick who looked almost murderous. Well, he _always_ looked murderous, but at this point in time he looked just a little more then usual.

Riddick's 'Miniature Me' came banging into the room not a minute later and practically inhaled the water that was given to him. Jack had even been able to find a pair of goggles that vaguely resembled the ones his obvious idol wore, though they were missing an eye. Crichton snorted in amusement, and quickly hid his smile behind his own glass of water as everyone looked at the young boy as if he had just committed sacrilege.

He could barely remember a time when he had been that young and impressionable. Seemed like a lifetime ago, several lifetimes in fact. His whole world now seemed to revolve around the abnormal that anything normal, such as a child wanting to be just like their hero, seemed weirdly strange to him.

Crichton was roughly yanked from his thoughts as the yelling started. It sounded like the classic who killed whom scenario, except none of them was the culprit and that was the scariest part. _'Who is Mrs. Peacock in the dining room with the candlestick, Alan, for $200.'_

"Please," the Imam's voice rose over those who were shouting and Crichton realized that only Riddick and himself were silent, even the two elder Chrislam kids were participating in the argument even though nobody could understand them. "Please," this time he got the desired wish and the others fell silent. "Has anyone seen the little one, has anyone seen Ali?"

Looking around the room in astonishment, Crichton realized that the youngest Arab child was absent from their group and he berated himself harshly for not noticing. How could he not notice an entire person, well half a person really, missing?

"Has anyone checked the Coring Room," Riddick's deep voice reverberated around the small room. Just then a scream rang loudly across the desert and there was a collective pause before everyone was thrown into action, excluding Riddick, racing towards the sound. The Commander prayed that they reached him on time.

Richard B. Riddick watched passively as everyone rushed for the door at once before he made his way around the table, drinking what was left of everyone's water. Johns' had given him the last glass, the one full of mineral and dirt from the bottom of the tank. Only once he had sufficiently re-hydrated himself did he follow the rest of the group.

The strange man, Crichton, had been absent minded during the whole conversation, a melancholic smile danced across his lips as his eyes glazed over in thought. Riddick thought that he might have been able to ghost everyone in the room before the _wolf_ came around, but was forced to rectify that conclusion when he saw just how quickly he had reacted to the change in the atmosphere.

The second Carolyn's and Johns' voice turned hostile, Riddick watched as Crichton's glazed eyes turned sharp and scanned to room for threats before settling on those who were arguing. He had straitened in his chair, right hand creeping down his thigh, closer to his weapon, as his left propped his chin up, appearing for all intents and purposes as if he was simply relaxing. And then when the screaming had started, he watched as Crichton was the first out of the door, gun in hand, and murder in his steel blue eyes.

'_Interesting,'_ Riddick thought to himself as he made his way outside to join the others.

Combat boots pounded harshly against the ground, kicking up sand before it settled, only to be raised into the air once again as more shoes disturbed it. Crichton raced to the coring room, pulling rapidly ahead of the group. Foreign yet not equations danced across his eyes, obscuring his vision, and yet sharpening it, forcing it to focus on certain things, important things, blocking out the rest. Four sets of footprints in the sand heading towards the Coring Room, two large, two small. Only three coming back. The smallest did not return.

The alien equations intensified as he gazed upon the doors leading to the building that Crichton simply couldn't get to fast enough. He was still 22.4 motras away, the group 9.8 motras behind. He could reach it…would reach it on time, the rest wouldn't. Winona was gripped harshly in his fist, sweat on his palms making it slick.

There could be something blocking the door, making it so he wouldn't make it on time to save the young boy, but then again there might not. If he shot and there wasn't anything, he could risk hitting the child, but if there was something keeping those doors shut, then he couldn't afford not to act now. Eleven motras away, Crichton raised his gun and fired, shooting out both handles in one hit before his body slammed full force into the metal doors.

Crichton didn't take a second to orient himself, he just acted, his body and mind easily falling into the familiar fight or die reflex he was so used to. Long ago had the fight or flight reaction been stamped out of his system. He learned the hard way that he couldn't out run his problems. Scanning the room once for threats, his eyes quickly revealing tiny footprints leading to a storage closet. He heard voices behind him as the rest of the group finally caught up with him.

In seconds, seconds that seemed like an eternity, Crichton had the cabinet doors opened and his left hand grasped cloth as he yanked the young child out of the danger zone. He had barely enough time to hit the dirt, the surprisingly alive Ali underneath him, before a cloud of nightmares burst out of the closet and swarmed around them. Sparing a second to wish for his leather coat as tiny claws cut into his skin he raised his head just enough to yell out a warning to the others.

Sadly his warning came a little to late for one Abu al-Walid as the swarm of hatchlings swooped around and disappeared down the long dark hole in the center of the room, taking the Imam with it.

Carolyn Fry entered the Coring Room just seconds behind the shotgun carrying Johns. She would have continued further into the room if it wasn't for the red head's arm snapping out and slamming into her stomach, not only winding her but also stopping her headlong sprint. Turning to yell obscenities at the cop, her words froze in her throat and she choked on them as she took in the sight before her. She could barely make out the dark clothes of Crichton and the contrasting white ones of Ali as they were overtaken by creatures out of the dark.

Someone raced passed her and she could only get out a feeble "Wait," before they too were submerged in the swarm. A large hand grabbed the back of her dirty and torn grey pilot's shirt and yanked her out of the room as the creatures made another loop around, the doors slamming shut in her face. She desperately wanted to go back in, to see if those inside had made it, but she could still hear those things whooping and her legs refused to move.

They waited a full minute before slowly easing the doors open, Johns with his shotgun taking point and sweeping the room. "Clear," his voice was loud in the sudden silence and everyone raced inside in morbid curiosity. Carolyn only joined them when she saw Riddick pass her, leaving her the last one outside. She didn't want to be alone anywhere right now.

With shaking hands and wide eyes, Fry stepped into the Coring Room and glanced around. John was hoisting himself off the ground with little difficulty, surprising really with the small child that was clinging to him like the older man was his only defense against those things. Looking at the situation though, Carolyn could see that Crichton had actually been his only salvation.

Something was missing though, but what ever it was, it was eluding her. Only after her gaze swept over the room a third time did she realize what it was. Imam was missing.

"Where," Carolyn's voice cracked and she licked her lips and swallowed before trying again. "Where is Imam?"

Both Crichton and Riddick gave a pointed look at the mine shaft in the center of the room and tears burned her eyes. So they lost another one. Were they going to lose everyone out here?

William watched as the 'Captain' started to emotionally detach herself from the situation. Only once her emotions were calm and she was walking about the room with a strange sense of curiosity did Johns go back to perusing the room as well. Glancing back at the doors they had entered he did a double take before making his way over to them.

A large hole stood in the place of where the handles used to be, and a broken chain lay useless on the ground. The hole was easily the side of his head and the edges were still red and smoldering. Snapping his gaze to Crichton, his vision honed onto the strange gun that he was holstering before he once again took in the sight of the hole. The gun hadn't shot through the door, it had fucking melted it.

Taking in the projectile's path, he turned around and confirmed that it hadn't stopped there. No, it went through the broken chain link fence around the shaft twice before ending in one of the large machines. That hole was sizably smaller, but it still went at least three quarters of the way into the rig before dying out. Melted metal was actually dripping off the top of the hole before settling and cooling back to its grey color.

The shotgun he held in his hands felt heavy and he spared it a glance before his eyes once again zeroed onto the strange gun. If he shot Crichton, he may survive it, depending on what part of him was hit, but he doubted he would live through getting shot by one of those guns. Even if he was shot in the hand, the pain might just kill him, or he might combust from the heat. Combusting sounded better, less painful. He hoped to God that if he was forced to shoot the Commander, Johns got him where it counted first, preferably the head. Let's see if Crichton could survive that.


	8. Chapter Seven

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_Some people are like slinkies…they're pretty useless but are fun to push down a flight of stairs."_

**Spelunking I Think Not**

"Maybe I should tell you how Riddick escaped from Slam City?"

Johns' voice floated out of the skiff where he was talking with Carolyn Fry, their group appointed leader. Crichton had been unaware of the smaller woman's progression up the preverbal food chain and he wanted a revote. She was a fairly decent person, all things considered, but clearly had no idea what she was doing. There was also something about her, something that was just off. John couldn't place exactly what it was, but his gut was telling him that she couldn't be trusted.

From the Commander's position underneath the Sand Cat, he could hear them both quite clearly, but he didn't take anything that was said to heart. He had learned early on that you can't blindly trust what on person says about another before you know what happened. Take Craise for example. The incident with his brother had been happenstance, purely accidental, but that didn't stop the Sebacean from chasing him all over the 'verse to the underside of creation. No, he would come to his own opinion about Richard B. Riddick…now only if Carolyn could come too her own as well.

_'I wonder what the B stands for…'_ Crichton thought absent mindedly to himself. _'Badass maybe or Big Bad but then that's two words…what about Bastard that could work. Bourgeoisie...' _He stopped himself there, now he was just being absurd.

Williams Johns was a man who was very skilled with his words, and he was extremely good at making others follow him blindly. Crichton snorted quietly to himself as he listened to the sugar coated poison that dripped from his cruel chapped lips. It seemed that the 'Captain' would rather trust the bounty hunter's words over her own after all. She was naive to put her faith in a man who would clearly exploit it should the need arise, but hey, who was he to judge.

Rubber clapped loudly against metal as Johns' made his way outside into the baking heat that was just short of broil. Pulling himself out from under the vehicle he had been fixing, Crichton caught sight of the red head as he made his way to the side of the skiff and started dry heaving. Now that he looked closer he could see him trembling. Johns had mentioned something about a fever earlier, but the Commander knew the signs of detox and sighed loudly as another potential problem was thrown on an ever growing list of complications. The list was starting to get ridiculously long.

First there was the whole crashing thing which had to be the one to take the cake. Honestly though, Crichton thought that he should have expected it, knowing his luck or lack there of. Hezmana, the Gratzner probably never would have crashed if he hadn't been on it. The second was Rovhu's injury and shield malfunction, which consequently led to the first problem. The third was Riddick, escape convict and murderer. Then there was Zeke and those things…the monsters down the rabbit hole.

He couldn't forget about Johns though, the hype bounty hunter posing as law. He was a huge problem, and it seemed that he was going to make surviving that much harder for the rest of them. Crichton wouldn't put it past the man to just bag Riddick and leave the rest of them here to rot…or get eaten. He had almost forgotten about the planetary alignment that was less then a day away. The list could go on, but the Commander thought it best to quit while he was ahead.

Dusting his hands off, Crichton sat upon the driver seat to test his mechanical skills and was immensely pleased with himself when it started on the first try, even though half of the time he was following directions from the annoying alien symbols. They had been dancing within his mind ever since the Coring Room incident and didn't see fit to leave. It was starting to piss him off.

Glancing over in the direction of the skiff, he saw Johns making his way towards one of the shaded houses while Riddick, with his newly shaven head, stepped inside the skiff just as the hatch closed, sealing both him and the pilot inside.

After Imam's unfortunate tumble down the shaft, and the discovery of the bones inside, _'So that is where all the villagers went, I suppose the chance of them all getting the urge to go spelunking at the same time is null,'_ Carolyn was kind enough to direct their attention to the wonderful model of make believe and point out the amazing eclipse they would never get to see, well live through to see at least. Crichton already knew about the ever approaching night, but now that everyone else was made aware, it seemed to light a fire under their eemas.

Paris had gone with Walter and taken the kids to find scrap metal to repair the skiff while Fry attempted a sys check. Johns' location was anyone's guess and Riddick was most likely tormenting said pilot while Crichton looked on in objected amusement. The much larger man wouldn't kill Fry…he hoped. Because if he did, then Crichton would be left to pilot the piece of dren and he highly doubted he would be able to accomplish such a feat.

Pulling his attention back to the Sand Cat, he let the engine purr for a few more minutes before shutting it down. There would be just enough room in the back for everyone, now that they were down another adult, but it would be a tight fit. Pulling himself away from the machine, Crichton made his way to find everyone else. They really needed to get this pony show on the road if they were going to get out of atmo before night hit.

O0O~O0O~Page~Break~O0O~O0O

Heart hammering, breath caught in her throat, Carolyn almost wept in relief when the sys check finished and Riddick left her to her own tormented thoughts. No matter how brave she tried to appear, the convict scared the shit out of her. They had less then a day, maybe less then an hour…who knows? But he was right, once the lights went out and the dying started, this psycho fuck family of theirs was going to tear itself apart.

Light poured in from the open hatch, bringing her unusual comfort from the world that had only brought her pain. Fry's breath came short and quick as the walls began to close in on her. She needed to get out; it was suffocating her in here.

She watched as the silhouette of the terrifying man finally disappeared and she then she waited several more minutes before she ran out of the tiny skiff and made her way under the sun. The heat was stifling, but the openness brought her comfort. A thought was rooting deep in the recesses of her mind and try as she might she couldn't shake what Riddick had to say. What did he mean ask Johns why her crew mate had to scream so painfully before he died?

Blue eyes darted around in paranoia, nobody was watching her, they wouldn't miss her for a few minutes. Now she just had to find Johns.

O0O~O0O~Page~Break~O0O~O0O

Crazed blue eyes hiding a brokenly twisted mind gazed at the sky in wonderment. The eclipse was here, and by the Goddess it was gorgeous. Deep burgundy and pale brown asteroid belts seemed to rise from the horizon itself, foreshadowing their slow death.

A grin stole upon Crichton's face as a mad chuckle broke though his throat. The others didn't notice, too caught up in their own thoughts of doom. After what seemed an eternity, John finally pulled himself away from the sight and made his way to the Sand Cat as Carolyn joined the viewing party.

Darkness was fast approaching and they needed to move quickly if they were to survive the next few hours. He passed in front of Jack and Ali, placing a large hand on both of their shoulders he led them to the vehicle, making sure they were settled before he revved the engine, drawing the attention of the others. "If we are going to make it back to the crash site I suggest we kick it in gear. This Sand Cat is solar."

And if that wasn't like a gunshot at the beginning of the race, Crichton didn't know what was. He had never seen so many people move so fast before. It was almost comical. Once everyone was on board and ready to go, he shifted the gear to drive and then slammed on the accelerator. Now it was just a race against time itself as the small vehicle took off, leaving only dust in its wake.


End file.
